Leslie's Early Years: Hidden Talents
by FantasyIslander65
Summary: Leslie is sure she'll be the only one in her group excluded from Fantasy Island High's mother-daughter talent show. Sixth in the 'Early Years' series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _A little bit of foreshadowing to Michiko's future career (pre-royalty). This story immediately precedes "Homecoming / Stowaway" under the MagicSwede1965 pen name, and refers briefly to the episode "Delphine / The Unkillable" (first aired April 11, 1981), first story arc, with Ann Jillian as Delphine MacNabb._

* * *

§ § § -- April 6, 1981

The first notice Leslie ever saw of the show came on a Monday just a month before her sixteenth birthday; she was on her way to lunch with Michiko and Maureen when she happened to see a large, colorful poster mounted on a corridor wall. Curiosity piqued, she stopped to read what was on it.

"What're you looking at?" Maureen asked before spying the poster herself. "Oh, that! You have to wonder how many parents are going to go for it."

"That's why they put up the posters so soon," Michiko remarked with a laugh, "so that kids have enough time to talk their parents into performing."

Leslie barely heard them; her eyes seemed glued to the top of the poster. In large red letters it shouted, _MOTHER-DAUGHTER TALENT SHOW!_ The poster went on to say that the show was to be presented on May 24, the last Sunday before school let out for the summer, and that all types of acts were encouraged to audition. The only stipulation was that each act be a team of mother and daughter. There were two names to contact, both in the drama department, should there be any questions; and the sign-up period was open till April 17. Yet she couldn't seem to get past that top line, and she felt a little dazed.

"Leslie, come on, let's get to the cafeteria before lunch is over," Maureen urged.

"Are you okay?" Michiko asked her.

Leslie snapped herself back to the present with some force and nodded firmly. "I'm fine," she said. "I guess the sight of that just kind of surprised me. Is this some kind of annual or semi-annual thing, or what?"

"Beats me," Maureen said. "I wouldn't know."

"I think it's something new," Michiko said. "If it weren't, Camille or I might have heard something about it from our older siblings. But it sounds like fun anyway. Look, I'm hungry, so let's get to the lunchroom quick."

There were more posters tacked up on the cafeteria walls, and the show turned out to be the main topic of discussion at their lunch table as a result. Leslie sat back and let the conversation flow around her for the most part, eating lunch and wishing for some kind of selective deafness. But her friends were excited about it, and she had no wish to spoil their fun. In fact, she even asked a couple of questions about it, which seemed to prevent her friends from noticing her unaccustomed reticence.

When she got home, neither Roarke nor Tattoo was in evidence, though Roarke had left a note explaining that he and Tattoo were out attending to assorted errands, including an appointment Roarke had with a vulcanologist. Normally such a remark would have intrigued Leslie, but she was too preoccupied to think much about it. She folded Roarke's note once and took it upstairs with her, dumping it with her books on her bed and curling up in the rocking chair that sat in the corner. It had been a gift for her fourteenth birthday, and she often read in it. Now she found herself thinking, unable to get her mind off the subject of that talent show. _Mom would've gone for something like that in a heartbeat,_ she thought wistfully, a melancholy creeping over her. _Imagine what fun we could've had with it! But none of my old schools ever had anything like that, and now that I'm here and there is one, I can't because Mom's gone._

_But I can't let anyone know how much I wish I could be part of it too. If I sit around feeling sorry for myself, Michiko and Myeko and Camille and Lauren and Maureen would all start feeling guilty because I couldn't be in the show…or worse, they'd start hating me for my self-pity. But gosh…how come it has to be for mothers and daughters? Why couldn't it have been fathers and daughters? I don't know if Mr. Roarke would've done anything like this, but at least I could've asked and I wouldn't feel so left out._

_Well, at any rate, I know the other girls are going to try it…they were all talking about it like crazy at lunch. Some friend I'd be if I started turning into a wet blanket. But if only I could tell someone about it. I know Mr. Roarke and Tattoo would understand, but it just figures that neither of them is here. Well, maybe at supper._ Leslie gave a great sigh and pushed herself out of her chair, hoping her homework assignment would help get her mind off the depressing subject. At this moment she missed her mother more than she had in quite some time, and the familiar hollow feeling in her heart brought on the kind of ache she had hoped would eventually go away. She was too tired of feeling like that to tolerate it for overly long.

To her complete surprise, she found herself eating alone, for the first time ever since her arrival on Fantasy Island more than two years before. Mana'olana, their cook, gave her an apologetic look as she put a covered dish on the table. "Mr. Roarke and Mr. Tattoo are both busy," she said. "They wanted to be done in time to come home and join you for dinner, Miss Leslie, but it just didn't work out. Mr. Roarke had an appointment with some volcano expert and he said it ran longer than expected, and something came up at the hotel that Mr. Tattoo had to handle."

"Oh," said Leslie and sighed softly. "Well, I guess they'll be back when they get back."

"I'm sure they'll not be much longer," Mana'olana said comfortingly. "I've been working with some recipes, Miss Leslie, and this is my first try at Boston baked beans. I thought maybe you missed a few dishes from your native region."

Leslie blinked up at her and smiled in spite of her pensive mood. "That's really sweet of you, Mana'olana," she said. "Thank you." The cook smiled.

"Let me know if I did it right," she said and wheeled her cart off the veranda back to the kitchen. Leslie lifted the lid on the pot and half stood up, leaning forward to take in the aroma from the contents. Curious to see if the taste matched the smell, she filled her plate and took a bite, only to find herself beset with memories that hadn't been called back to her conscious mind in years. She ate the entire meal in dead silence, staring unseeingly into the trees, beset with memories of her mother's cooking and her sisters' chatter at meals, of the one year her _mormor_ had lived with them before that first awful fire. By the time Mana'olana returned, Leslie's plate was clean, but she seemed to be in a stupor.

"Miss Leslie?" the cook asked hesitantly, reaching for the empty plate.

Leslie came to with a start and stared at her for a moment. "Oh, hi," she said and cleared her throat. "You did a super job with the beans…they taste just like I remember them when I was little, really." She even managed to smile.

"I'm glad," Mana'olana replied, peering at her closely for a moment. "Dessert, then, Miss Leslie?"

Leslie shook her head. "No thanks," she said softly. "But I really appreciate your going to all that trouble. Have a good evening." She got up and almost ran across the porch toward the door, with Mana'olana watching in perplexity all the way.

‡ ‡ ‡

By late in the week both Roarke and Tattoo had noticed something wrong as well, but since Leslie offered no explanation and seemed determined to carry on as if all were normal, they didn't pry. However, that changed on Friday afternoon, April 10, when Leslie didn't come home from school at the usual time.

"Do you think she went home with one of her friends, boss?" Tattoo asked.

"She wouldn't have done that without informing me," Roarke said. "However, perhaps I'd better call and find out if she did. Of course, there's always the chance that the bus broke down." He frowned and picked up the phone to start dialing numbers at the homes of Leslie's friends.

Tattoo was trying to think of something he could do when Mana'olana appeared from the kitchen bearing a tray with a carafe and three delicate ceramic cups. "Oh, the hot chocolate," he said. "Thank you, Mana'olana."

She glanced around the room. "Isn't Miss Leslie back from school yet?"

"No," Tattoo said. "The boss is calling her friends to see if she went home with one of them. He said the school bus could've broken down too."

Mana'olana set down the tray and looked at him worriedly. "I wouldn't be quite so sure, Mr. Tattoo," she ventured. "Something's not right with Miss Leslie."

"You noticed too?" Tattoo asked in surprise.

Roarke hung up from the first call, having ascertained that Leslie wasn't at Michiko's house, and turned his attention to the conversation. "Do you know something about Leslie, Mana'olana?"

"Well, I noticed something must be wrong on Monday evening," the cook said anxiously. "It was when you and Mr. Tattoo were out late on errands, sir. I…I thought she might like it if I made something she remembered from the region where she was born, so I served Boston baked beans that evening. When I came back out to clear the table, I could see she had been crying, and she was staring into space. She said the beans were very good…but sir, I've worried all week long. I thought maybe having a dish from her childhood made her sad because it reminded her of…" Mana'olana broke off and hung her head.

"Oh, that wouldn't be your fault," Roarke said. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mana'olana. Leslie has apparently had something on her mind the entire week, and I doubt it has anything to do with what she ate Monday evening."

The cook looked up at him hopefully. "Are you certain, sir?"

"Such a little thing wouldn't bother Leslie," Roarke said. "No, I think the cause is something else entirely. Rest assured you aren't to blame."

Mana'olana smiled finally and said, "Thank you, sir. I hope you find her."

Roarke and Tattoo nodded and gave their thanks, and she left the study with a lighter step. Roarke picked up the phone again and proceeded to call the rest of Leslie's friends, none of whom knew her whereabouts.

"She could have gone to the lagoon," Tattoo suggested. "Sometimes I go there to think about things. We could look there."

"It appears that is our only option," Roarke observed. "A good suggestion, my friend. Let's go." They departed the house, leaving the hot chocolate waiting there for their return, and drove to the lagoon, which turned out to be deserted.

They also learned in short order that Leslie wasn't at the swimming pool, the stables, or the hotel; and they didn't find her in the bookshop in Amberville either. They were passing the supper club, set behind a small unpaved parking lot off the Ring Road, when Roarke thought he heard a sound that shouldn't have been audible in this setting. He stopped the car, earning a blank look from Tattoo. "Boss, what's wrong?"

"Listen," Roarke said, and they both sat waiting. A moment later, a definite piano note, toward the low end of the keyboard from the sound of it, reached their ears, followed shortly thereafter by another one. The same note kept sounding out like a doleful bell, about once a second or so.

"How did you hear that?" Tattoo demanded. "It's not very loud, and I couldn't have heard it over the car engine."

"The building is right off the road," Roarke pointed out, backing the car up a few yards so he could pull into the lot. "There shouldn't be anyone here, so I think it wise to investigate the source of those notes."

The entrance door to the supper club was open, as it happened. The interior was only dimly lit by the occasional globe lamp hanging from the ceiling. Toward the far side of the room there was a piano—and at its keyboard sat Leslie, half hidden in the penumbra of one of the lamps, elbow resting on the edge of the piano supporting her head, and one finger pressing the same key over and over again. Her schoolbooks sat in a pile beside her on the piano bench.

Roarke and Tattoo wove their way through the assorted tables till they had nearly reached her, and then Roarke cleared his throat, which startled Leslie so badly that her elbow slipped off the edge of the piano and she had to catch herself against the wall. She stared at them with wide eyes, then relaxed and looked back at the keyboard. "Hi, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo," she murmured.

Her guardian and his assistant looked at each other; then Roarke moved Leslie's books to a nearby table and sat on the bench beside her. "What are you doing here, Leslie?" he asked gently.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing."

Roarke decided there was no point in beating around the bush. "Something's wrong, Leslie," he said. "Tattoo and I have seen evidence of it all week, and Mana'olana came to us this afternoon and told us she saw you crying Monday evening. If you have a problem you are unable to work out, then why don't you tell us?"

He and Tattoo watched her raise her eyes to the darkened stage, although at first she said nothing. Tattoo leaned over the edge of the piano. "Leslie, did you know Mana'olana thought it was her fault you were crying the other evening?"

Leslie turned to him in surprise, and he nodded. She looked at Roarke then and said, "When did she see me crying?"

"Monday, when you had dinner," Roarke told her. "She mentioned cooking a dish you might remember from your childhood, and when she saw tears on your face, she was certain it had brought back painful memories for you. She apparently has been feeling guilty over it the entire week."

"Oh," said Leslie and turned red, hanging her head again. "I didn't even know I was crying. Oh gosh, Mr. Roarke, it wasn't her fault." She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. "It did bring back memories, but they weren't painful ones. It was just an accident of timing. I mean…" Again she looked at the stage. "I would've told you and Tattoo that night if you'd been able to come home for supper, but you couldn't, so I thought about it and I figured it was just me feeling sorry for myself and nobody'd want to know."

"Well, we do," Tattoo said firmly. "Come on, _petite chérie_, talk to us."

"Perhaps we can help," Roarke added.

One of her tears spilled over. "Not with this. It started Monday when I saw a poster at school. There's going to be a mother-daughter talent show the end of next month, right before school lets out for the summer. My friends have been talking about it all week, and that's almost all they can think of. They're all so excited. I didn't want to rain on their parade, so I asked questions and tried to make it sound like I was interested. But every time I think of it or hear about it, it depresses me." She finally began to really cry. "Mom would've said I should sign us up for an act and we'd have rehearsed every day after school and on weekends…she'd have loved it, and it would've been a load of fun. All my friends are planning to be in it, but I can't."

Roarke pulled her against his side and put a comforting arm around her, while she cried on his shoulder. Tattoo solemnly returned his glance, and he turned back to Leslie, patting her arm. "Completely understandable, child," Roarke said quietly. "Isn't there a way you could help behind the scenes?"

She shook her head and swiped her face without effect. "No…there aren't going to be any sets or costumes or makeup, and the drama class is doing the lighting and making up programs. Myeko's in that class and she told us so. I don't think they even realize I can't be in the show…and I don't know if I want to see it or not."

Roarke hugged her and rested his head atop hers; Tattoo watched with a somber, sympathetic expression. "I'm not sure what to tell you, Leslie, and I truly wish I had words that would comfort you. But I think perhaps you're too quick to discount your friends' reaction. I know you feel that you don't want to dampen their enthusiasm, but sometimes it helps to explain how you feel. I'm sure they would understand."

"I don't want them to think I'm just feeling sorry for myself," she protested.

"Who says they would?" Tattoo asked. "Maybe if you tell them, they'll think of something you could do to help them. They wouldn't leave you out, Leslie."

She peered at him doubtfully, then made a sort of shrugging motion with her eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know."

Roarke squeezed her. "Well, you need not dwell on it right now, my child. There's a very special guest arriving on tomorrow's plane, and I want you to meet her. Meantime, perhaps some solution to the problem will present itself. Whatever happens, I am sure it will work itself out. So why don't you come home? Mana'olana left hot chocolate waiting for us, and I think she would worry still more if you didn't return and have some."

Leslie looked up. "Well, I wouldn't want her to think I don't like her cooking."

The men both laughed, and Roarke and Leslie finally arose from the bench and started out, Leslie scraping up her books from the table where Roarke had left them. "How did you get into this building?" Tattoo asked as they left.

"The door was open," Leslie replied. "I'd have gone to the lagoon, but when I got there a whole bunch of kids from the fishing village were playing there and I didn't want to be around people. So I just wandered down a path, and I wound up here, and I saw the door standing open. I'm sorry I didn't come right home from school, Mr. Roarke…it's just that I couldn't stand it anymore, and I was tired of keeping up a façade."

"That's all right, as long as you're unharmed," Roarke said. "The question is, who left that door open?"

They had just reached the car when the answer came. They all stared as Chester the Chimp loped rapidly around the far corner of the building, clutching a key in one hand. Not five seconds later, the supper club's manager charged into view in Chester's wake, huffing and puffing like a steam engine, his face florid with rage. "Get back here with that key, you miserable, thieving little ape!" he yelled.

Roarke stifled a smile; Leslie stared, open-mouthed. Tattoo rolled his eyes and called, "Chester, you stupid monkey, come over here."

Miraculously, Chester stopped and sauntered over to Tattoo, baring his teeth in what looked very much like a mocking grin. Tattoo held out his hand expectantly, and Chester grunted a few times before turning over the key. "Thank you," Tattoo said sarcastically. "Now get lost, and don't let me catch you here again."

The manager had been watching them, trying to catch his breath; now, while Chester absented himself from the scene, he approached them sheepishly. "He took the key right out of my hand as I was trying to let myself in for the evening shift," the man explained. "I've been chasing him for the last half hour."

"Chester's good at that kind of stuff," Tattoo said with a deep sigh.

"Don't trouble yourself, George," Roarke put in. "Chester has a way of eluding everyone. As a matter of fact, he may have done us a favor…by leaving the door open, he indirectly allowed us to find Leslie, as she never would have gone inside had the door been closed."

George peered at her in surprise. "You were in there, Miss Leslie?"

She nodded sheepishly. "I had something to think about, and that was the best place I could find. I'm sorry if I was any trouble."

"To tell you the truth, Miss Leslie, I didn't even know you were there. So don't worry. Thank you, Mr. Tattoo, for stopping that chimp. Now I can get to work." George heaved a great sigh and trudged off toward the door, having caught his breath at last. Chuckling, Roarke and Tattoo got into the car, and Leslie slid into the middle seat, smiling faintly.

At the main house Tattoo poured chocolate for them all, and they were in the midst of enjoying it when Mana'olana appeared. "Oh, Miss Leslie, thank goodness you're all right," she exclaimed.

Leslie turned to her in surprise. "You shouldn't worry about me," she said. "I'm sorry if you did that all week. I guess I should tell you, it wasn't anything you did that made me cry the other night. I had no idea I was crying. The beans were great, and I hope you'll serve them again sometime. Honest."

Mana'olana smiled at her. "I'm very glad to hear that. I'm just happy to see that Mr. Roarke and Mr. Tattoo found you all right." She took the empty tray and bustled off to the kitchen.

"There, you see how many people care about you?" Tattoo said.

Leslie smiled. "If I ever forget, I can count on you to remind me," she teased, and both Tattoo and Roarke burst out laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- April 11, 1981

Roarke's special guest—his goddaughter, a pretty platinum blonde named Delphine MacNabb—turned out to have some very interesting powers. When Roarke introduced her to Leslie and they'd been talking a while in the study about Delphine's fantasy, Leslie was astonished when Delphine levitated a book across the room from a shelf. It took her quite some time before she got up the courage to ask Delphine about it.

"Oh, that," Delphine mumbled. "It's kind of a pain, now that I'm about to get married. Greg doesn't know, just as I told uncle. If he ever finds out…"

"I think your powers are really cool, Delphine," Leslie said. "Actually, it reminds me of that old TV show _Bewitched."_

"And Greg's going to be Darrin," Delphine said glumly, making Leslie laugh. "If my parents were still around, I'd ask them why in the world they had to go and have kids."

"What happened to them?" asked Leslie.

"They're dead now," said Delphine. "But Mr. Roarke helped them immigrate to the island after they suffered a lot of persecution in Ireland, and my sister and I were both born here. We have loads of relatives in the British Isles, though. How they keep ordinary people from finding out about the powers is a complete mystery to me."

"Well, I still say they're cool," said Leslie. "And I also say that if your fiancé is a decent guy, he'll still love you no matter what."

"You're a sweet kid, Leslie," Delphine said. "Thanks."

By the time the weekend had ended, Delphine was safely married to Greg, who had finally learned all about her magical powers and still loved her just as Leslie had predicted. But Leslie had come no closer to a solution to her own problem, and at school on Monday she found herself facing it all over again.

She fell silent as usual during lunch, letting her friends talk around her, until finally Lauren turned to her. "Leslie, how come you've been so quiet lately? It's like you've decided to quit talking to us or something. Did we do something to make you mad?"

"No, not at all," Leslie said hastily, glancing around the table. "No, I…just had something to think about, that's all. You guys just keep making your plans."

"Look, it's no fun when you just sit there and stare into space," Camille informed her unexpectedly, in her usual brusque way. "You're turning into a real drag, Leslie Hamilton, you know that? You came over and kicked my butt when I was moping about my sister last year. Now I guess it's my turn to kick yours back. So snap out of it and act like a human being again, will ya?"

"Oh, Camille, for heaven's sake," Michiko said, exasperated. "Leslie, if something's wrong, why don't you talk to us about it? Maybe we can help."

She smiled ruefully. "That's what Mr. Roarke and Tattoo said last week, almost word for word. I just didn't want to tell you because you've all been having such a great time planning your entries for the talent show, and I didn't want to make you feel bad."

"Oh, no," Michiko breathed, almond eyes widening with sudden realization. The other girls got the connection almost all at once, and they looked at one another with guilty glances. Leslie sighed.

"Don't look like that," she burst out. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I was afraid this would happen. Just because I can't be in the talent show doesn't mean you guys should tiptoe around the subject when I'm around. I'll—I'll come and watch you in it, really. It'll be f-fun to see you on stage." Leslie smiled weakly.

"Let me tell you something," Maureen said, leaning over the table. "I just found out over the weekend that I'm not going to be in the show either. My mother flat-out refuses to do it. She doesn't feel comfortable enough in English to get up and perform in front of people, and she's too afraid of making a fool of herself to even try. So I'll be in the audience the same as you, and we can keep each other company."

"At least you had the option," Camille snapped at her. "Leslie doesn't, so I don't see where you get off trying to look like you're being all deprived too."

"Shut up, Camille," Michiko and Lauren said in exact chorus. Myeko gave her a good sock in the upper arm; Camille scowled at her but fell silent. Leslie stared at her, a little stunned by the surprise attack.

"Don't try to turn me into some sort of martyr, Camille," she said softly. Camille gave her a startled look, then went red and compressed her lips. "So come on, the rest of you…have you figured out yet what you're going to do in the show?"

"Mom and I are doing a comedy skit," said Myeko. "We're trying to figure out now what it'll be. It's kind of a tossup between Abbott and Costello's 'Who's on First?' routine and an original thing. I don't think we can write comedy too well, though."

"Don't know why not. You're such a cutup," Maureen said, grinning. "You could put it to good use." The girls all laughed.

"We're going to do a scene from a play," Lauren said, "maybe _The Glass Menagerie_. But it's such a tragic story, we're trying to come up with something funny."

"I don't know yet," Camille admitted. "Mom told me to come up with it, but not make it too outrageous. The quads are taking up all her attention as usual, so I suppose it's a miracle she agreed to it at all." She glanced across the table. "And of course, Michiko's going to sing. Mrs. Tokita plays the piano like a pro."

"Oh, that's perfect," said Leslie. "What'll you sing?"

"I don't know yet." Michiko sighed deeply. "I'm glad we have so much time, because none of us has a clue just what we're going to do." Again everyone laughed; then Michiko lit up abruptly and turned to Leslie. "I just thought of something! Why don't you help me pick a song? Mother can play just about anything, so it doesn't matter what you choose. But I need help, and you'd be perfect."

"Oh!" Leslie said, very surprised. "Well, sure, I guess so. I mean…I don't know all that many good songs, unless you feel like doing a pop song or something. But I'll try."

"That's fine," said Michiko enthusiastically. "Mother wants me to sing something in Japanese, but I'm not sure that would go over too well with the audience. So if you can find something, Leslie, that'd be a tremendous help."

Thus it was that when Leslie got home, she started looking over Roarke's book collection in the built-in shelves in the corner of the study. Roarke was out again when she arrived, but he came home about ten minutes after she got in and caught her perusing titles on book spines. "A school project, Leslie?" he asked.

She yanked up straight and whipped around. "Hi, Mr. Roarke. You don't happen to have any songbooks around, do you?"

"Songbooks?" repeated Roarke. "I don't know. If I do, however, they certainly aren't on those shelves. Why do you need them?"

"Michiko asked me to help her pick a song to sing for her act in the talent show," Leslie explained. "She said her mother wants her to sing a Japanese song, but she isn't too sure about that. So I said I'd help. But I don't think a current song is good enough. Michiko has a wonderful voice…we heard her in the school assembly at Christmas last year. So I thought if you had any books with older songs…I mean, uh…" She faltered, and Roarke let out a laugh.

"Perhaps you have in mind something such as an old standard, or a show tune," he said. "If that's what you're thinking, I suggest you go to the supper club and ask George if you might check the material he stores in the piano bench. You should find something in there; I understand he has quite the collection."

"Oh, that's a great idea, Mr. Roarke, thanks!" Leslie exclaimed. "Is it okay if I take a car over there?"

"Go ahead, but try to be back within an hour," Roarke said. "I have another appointment I must keep for this evening, and it's on the other side of the island."

Leaving her books in the chair where she'd dropped them, Leslie found a set of keys and hurried out of the house. Once she reached the supper club, she found George, the manager, directing several of his employees in setting up for an evening. He spotted her as soon as she walked in and approached with an amiable smile. "Hello, Miss Leslie, is there something I can do for you?"

"I hope so," she said and explained why she had come. George nodded.

"Oh, absolutely, help yourself," he said. "I hope you find one—there's plenty of stuff in there to choose from. In fact, take some with you if you like, and look through them."

"Are you sure you won't need them right away?" Leslie asked.

George grinned. "I play most of my repertoire from memory anyway, so I don't need those. Take as many as you like, and don't rush to bring them back. Keep them as long as you have to. Good luck finding a song for your friend."

So Leslie took an armful of songbooks and carted them home with her, lugging the whole kit up to her room. Roarke saw her pass through the study and laughed at the sight she made. "Perhaps you need some help?" he offered.

She grinned at him. "I got this far, I guess I can make it the rest of the way. Thanks anyway. It's just that George let me borrow everything in the bench."

"So I see," Roarke chuckled. "Is there any homework?"

"Not tonight, for a change," Leslie said. "I guess the teachers decided to take some pity on us for one day at least. So I'll be in my room looking through these."

"I'll be leaving in about twenty minutes," Roarke told her, "so perhaps you should bring some back down with you then, in case the phone rings."

When he and Tattoo arrived simultaneously, just before their regular suppertime, they found Leslie on the settee with a collection of books spread out on either side of her and one open in her lap. She was paging slowly through it, reading the lyrics from time to time. "What are all those for?" Tattoo asked.

"I'm helping Michiko find a song to sing for the talent show," said Leslie. "So far I've seen hardly anything I recognize. George sure has a lot of obscure stuff."

"Sure looks that way, doesn't it?" Tattoo remarked, eyeing all the songbooks that surrounded her. "Well, I know the boss plays piano, and I do too, a little. We can both read music too, so if you see something that looks unfamiliar, you might recognize the music."

"But there's nothing to play it on," Leslie protested. "Are you planning to hum it?"

Roarke and Tattoo looked at each other, both thinking the same thing from the way they suppressed smiles at the same moment. "Are you suggesting we can't carry a tune?" demanded Tattoo with exaggerated affrontery.

"Yup," said Leslie succinctly, and Roarke laughed when Tattoo blinked in surprise.

"No offense taken, since I am well aware I am no professional singer," Roarke said. "If the need arises, I see no reason we can't find a piano on which to test out songs. But I think you should make a few choices, Leslie, before we go that far."

"I'm already keeping a list of songs with nice lyrics," she said. "But George must like a lot of old stuff, because I don't see a single thing in here that looks familiar at all. Oh well, I should probably take a break for supper."

Over the next several days, when there was free time, Leslie pored over the borrowed songbooks and jotted down titles of those with lyrics she liked; she still hadn't found any that rang a bell with her when the weekend arrived and she had to put the whole project aside to help with the fantasies. It wasn't till Sunday afternoon that Roarke had a little free time to take Leslie to the supper club. George, having once heard the story, told them to go ahead and use the piano.

For about half an hour Roarke played the first few bars of various songs, which finally triggered some memories in Leslie's mind. She began jotting down ideas on her list, happy to be making some progress at last. At one point, Roarke played the opening bars of a song called "Dream"; Leslie sat and watched his fingers moving across the keys, her mind alerted by the notes and searching for the relevant memory.

When it came, she gasped so loudly that Roarke stopped playing. "What's wrong?"

"I remember that this was one of _mormor_'s favorite songs," she said excitedly. "Most of the songs she really loved were in Swedish, and she even taught me a couple of Christmas carols. But she thought this was really pretty, and I think she used to sing it to me and the twins when we were little, as a lullaby."

"It could serve as one," Roarke agreed thoughtfully, randomly playing a bar or two before handing her the sheet music. "Do you remember the lyrics?"

Leslie read them over and unconsciously began humming the tune in the midst of her perusal. "Yes, I do!" She looked up with huge eyes. "Mr. Roarke, I think I just found the song for Michiko. She'd do a beautiful rendition of this, I know it."

Roarke smiled. "Very good, Leslie. Perhaps you had better settle on a few other choices, in case Michiko doesn't care as much for this one."

"She said she needs at least two songs anyway," Leslie said, "so I'm not done yet. But there's been this one song that's been running through my mind that I think she could do something with. Mom had it in her record collection—something by Simon and Garfunkel called 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'. I don't know if George has it though—it might be too recent for his tastes."

Roarke chuckled. "If he doesn't, you should be able to find sheet music in one of the shops in town. Keep it in mind and let's try a few more."

Mid-week Michiko came to the main house and managed to catch Leslie in the study, though she was alone. "Did you come up with any ideas?" she asked hopefully after the girls had greeted each other.

Leslie handed her the list. "Mr. Roarke finally got a chance to play some of these for me," she said, "and that's when I started recognizing a bunch of them. See if any of them ring a bell for you."

Michiko scanned the list and grinned. "I know Mother will know most of these," she said. "She has a good ear for World-War-II-era songs, and she was a teenager then anyway, so she can help me make some choices. Leslie, this is great! Thank you so much." She ran a finger down the list and stopped suddenly, looking up. "Why did you put asterisks next to some of these?"

"Oh…they were ones I thought would sound especially good with your voice," Leslie told her, "and a couple of them brought back memories for me too. But you pick what you like, and you don't even have to tell me what they are if you don't want to."

"We weren't told we had to keep our acts a secret or anything," Michiko said with a laugh. "But that's all right. Thanks, Leslie. Maybe I'll have a chance of winning."

"Winning? I didn't know there was a prize," Leslie said, amazed.

"It's a hundred dollars," Michiko said. "I wouldn't mind adding that to the college fund my parents started for me. But let me get these home and narrow it down. Thanks again, Leslie, you really were a lot of help."

§ § § -- May 24, 1981

It was the weekend before the final week of school, and there was an excitement in the air that wasn't due entirely to the fact that this was the night of the talent show. Both fantasies had finished early in the evening so that Roarke and Tattoo were both free to go to the show with Leslie. Maureen and her parents had saved seats for them, so they were soon settled in, waiting for the curtain to rise at seven.

None of the sixteen acts on the program was a secret, but Leslie and Maureen were more familiar with some than with others. In fact, on a number of occasions, they had gone over to Myeko's and Lauren's houses to serve as a sort of test audience for their acts. But they still didn't have much of an idea of what Camille and Katie Ichino were planning to do, and they had yet to hear Michiko sing. She and her mother, Miyoshi Tokita, were tenth on the list of performers, so it would be a while before they'd hear her.

The curtain went up promptly at seven o'clock, and each act was limited to five minutes so that the show wouldn't take the entire night. It wasn't long before someone they knew came up: Lauren and Carole McCormick were second on stage, performing a poignant scene from _The Glass Menagerie_ that went over fairly well with the audience. "Is she in the drama class?" Tattoo asked Leslie.

"No," Leslie told him. "Myeko's the only one of us who is. We were really surprised when Lauren decided to tackle that play. What did you think?"

"Not too bad for a non-drama student," Tattoo said, grinning. She giggled and nodded her agreement.

Act number seven was Myeko and Junko Sensei; they had decided performing their own material was going too far out on a limb, so they had adapted "Who's on First?" for their act. They had both dressed in baseball uniforms and cleats; Myeko wore her cap with the bill drooping over her right ear, and her mother had a catcher's mask hovering atop her head. They did a commendable job and got plenty of laughs and applause.

When Michiko and Miyoshi Tokita came on, a hush settled over the audience while Mrs. Tokita played the opening bars to "Dream", making Leslie sit up straight. Roarke cast a quick glance in her direction, wondering if she had known Michiko's choice before this moment. It didn't look to him as if she had; her eyes were wide and glistening.

Michiko was clad in a pale-lavender dress with matching shoes, and her long black hair had been left loose, with only a small cluster of violets over her right ear. She sat on a stool and sang without a microphone, yet she could easily be heard even by those in the back rows. Her voice was clear and strong and soaring, hitting every note dead-on; she injected a wistful yet hopeful quality into the song that seemed to carry across to everyone listening to her. Mrs. Tokita provided unobtrusive accompaniment with her flawless piano playing.

For just a moment when Michiko finished the song, utter silence held sway; then a huge roar went up. People even began standing up and cheering. Leslie and Maureen shot each other excited looks.

"You think she'll win?" Maureen yelled at Leslie.

"If the audience has anything to say about it, she will!" Leslie yelled back, beaming. She turned to gauge Roarke's and Tattoo's reactions; Tattoo was yelling "Bravo!" over and over, just the way he'd done when he saw Solange dance a few months before. Roarke, to her surprise, was watching her.

"What'd you think?" Leslie shouted at him.

"Excellent," Roarke replied, nodding in approval. He smiled. "A perfect choice."

Maureen leaned over and said suddenly in Leslie's ear, "Poor Camille. There's no way she can follow an act like that. Any idea what she did?"

"No clue," Leslie admitted. "She never did tell anyone as far as I know."

Camille and her mother turned out to be next-to-last on the agenda, and they had dressed in homemade identical jumpsuits made of some iridescent material that gleamed blue from one direction and red from another. They had come up with a comical little dance to the "Cantina Theme" from _Star Wars_, of all things, and their dance steps matched the lively energy of the piece. They tapped, jigged and bobbed all over the stage, drawing laughter from time to time, and got a nice round of applause at the end.

Once the sixteenth and final act had left the stage, a buzzing went up while Fantasy Island High's drama teacher, a Miss Kamani, came out to stand in front of the closed curtain. "Thank you all for coming to our show," she said warmly. "Now it's time for our judges to decide the winner of our one-hundred-dollar prize. Let me introduce them before they make their decision. First of all, our school principal, Mrs. Catherine Moon." The lady in question, of Chinese ancestry, came onstage to polite applause. "Secondly, our band teacher, Mr. Alan Shaw. And finally…our special guest judge, someone I'm sure you all know very well. Mr. Tattoo." Leslie stared in sheer astonishment as Tattoo made his way out of their row and up to the stage, where he joined the others.

"Mr. Roarke, did you know he was a judge?" Leslie whispered to her guardian.

Roarke chuckled. "Somehow he failed to tell either one of us, it appears!"

The chatter of dozens of conversations arose again within the auditorium while the judges conferred with one another, deliberating long enough that the audience began to get just a little restless. Tattoo appeared to come to a decision first, and when Mrs. Moon and Mr. Shaw turned to him and asked him something, he simply nodded. They looked at each other, then signaled at Miss Kamani.

"The judges have chosen a winner," she announced, bringing silence with comical speed. "May I see the choice?" Tattoo handed her a slip of paper, which she read; then she smiled broadly and looked up. "If I were a judge, I'd have chosen this act as well. The winner of one hundred dollars is Michiko Tokita and her mother, Miyoshi, performing 'Dream'!"

Pandemonium erupted, with yelling and cheering everywhere, even some foot-stomping. Leslie and Maureen screamed _"Yahoo!!"_ in unison and gave each other exuberant high-fives, and then Leslie turned to Roarke and hugged him hard for a moment.

"I'm so happy she won!" Leslie cried. "Isn't it great, Mr. Roarke?"

"Indeed, I believe she was the only real choice," Roarke agreed, smiling.

To their amazement, shouts for an encore came up, and the noise was so deafening that Miss Kamani gave in and allowed one. The audience settled into an expectant silence as Michiko went to the microphone Miss Kamani had left in a stand and cleared her throat a little sheepishly.

"I never expected to find myself doing an encore," she remarked, "but since I am…well, I thought I'd dedicate it to a certain friend of mine who helped me choose the song I sang this evening. 'Dream' reminds her of her late grandmother, and since this is a song of support and encouragement, I want to sing this one for my friend, Leslie Hamilton. Thank you, Leslie…you'll always be my friend, as long as I live." With that, she returned to her stool; and before a stunned Leslie could quite recover, Miyoshi Tokita began to softly play the opening bars to "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

Though Michiko's treatment of the song was respectful of the original, she still put her own unique spin on it. In spite of herself, Leslie could feel tears welling up in her eyes. It didn't take long before one spilled over; Roarke shifted over to take Tattoo's vacated chair and wrapped one arm around her, drawing her close to him, without ever removing his gaze from the stage. Silence hung over the room, broken solely by Michiko's voice and her mother's playing.

When at last the song ended, applause and cheering nearly deafened them once again. Roarke turned to his ward and brushed her hair back. "It appears you weren't left out of the show at all, my child," he said. "It was extraordinarily generous of Michiko to acknowledge the assistance you gave her and to dedicate that song to you."

Leslie nodded solemnly. "I know it was, and I'll never forget it, no matter what." She glanced at the stage, where the curtain had come down again, and then saw people in their row stepping back to make room for someone. It was Michiko herself; the moment she reached them, Leslie hugged her.

"Was it okay?" Michiko asked her.

"It was more than okay, it was fantastic," Leslie said in a soft, shaky voice. "You didn't have to do that for me, Michiko. All I did was give you a list of songs."

"But that was all I needed, and when I looked at the ones you'd put stars beside, I knew those were the only songs I could even consider." Michiko drew back and stared at her. "You don't realize just how appropriate your choices really were, Leslie. I always knew and liked both those songs, and I've actually heard them in my house too, from my earliest memories. Mr. Roarke told me what 'Dream' meant to you. And you managed to come up with my very favorite Simon and Garfunkel song. You had a real knack, Leslie, and you don't even see it. That's why I wanted to thank you for helping me. Whenever I perform, I'm going to come to you for song choices."

Leslie stared at her, astonished. "I never realized…oh gosh, Michiko. I'm just glad you won, that's all. You deserved it."

"Perhaps those are enough accolades for now," Roarke suggested lightly. "I'm afraid you'll have Leslie awake the entire night, emotional as she is now." Everyone around them laughed, and Michiko winked at Leslie before disappearing to join her family.

"Good for you," Maureen said. "Guess you have a talent you didn't even know was in there. Now, for heaven's sake, go home before you drown in your own tears, you sentimental fool, you." She grinned. "Hey, cheer up. Summer's almost here! And maybe next year they'll do a father-daughter thing, and you can try to talk Mr. Roarke into performing with you."

Roarke raised an eyebrow at that, eyeing her with a faint gleam in his eye that only Leslie saw. "Perhaps you presume too much on your friendship with Leslie and the resulting familiarity with me, that you would make such a suggestion," he said.

Maureen looked startled. "Oops. Sorry, Mr. Roarke…"

"Believe it or not, he's kidding you," Leslie told her with a laugh. "It took me a few months to learn to recognize when he's teasing. Besides, I just might take you up on it!" She laughed at Roarke's look of mock threat, and he finally chuckled in return.

"I just may remind you of it," he said, neatly getting in the last word. He smiled at their stunned looks and began to scan the crowd for Tattoo.

* * *

_One more tale coming up: the full story of how Leslie first met a certain obnoxious rich boy from England, and what really happened during his visit!_


End file.
